


Tennessee Waltz

by mishaleh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishaleh/pseuds/mishaleh
Summary: Tent Dance Fic.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Tennessee Waltz

Harry wasn’t sure what to do after Hermione had let go of him after they danced. She turned away and marched silently to her bed, letting her grief cross her features again. They both missed Ron. Friendship had glued the three of them together for so long, but he had _left them_. He stood there, unmoving, until he heard soft sniffles coming from Hermione’s bed. He wouldn't have it, she had cried alone enough. Slowly, he approached the bed, and put a soft hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s have another dance?”

Hermione glared at him. “And I suppose I’m supposed to be happy and enjoy it, then?”

Harry stood his ground. “No. We can both be miserable, if you like. But I don’t like to let you cry yourself to sleep with no one to hold you.” It didn’t occur to Harry to hold her in the bed while she cried. An invisible barrier in their friendship, in his nature, stopped him from knowing how to _touch._

Hermione pushed herself up on the bunk. She swiped at her tears, even as they continued to fall. She wanted to at least show that she appreciated Harry’s effort. He extended a hand to her, and she took it, coming out to dance again. Hermione didn’t want the radio or silence, though, for the dance, so she started to sing quietly. She didn’t sing often around her friends. She always worried that her voice would somehow give her away. She fretted that it would seem too low or too loud, or something she couldn’t even predict. Harry didn’t _know_ , but they were beyond the point where she worried about her voice now.

Hermione dropped her head onto Harry’s shoulder. “I was dancing with my darling," she sang. Harry swayed with her, his jaw slack from surprise and amazement. It didn’t even register with him that this was the first time he had heard his friend sing. He didn’t hear her words, not as such. Hermione’s voice was _beautiful_. He was drowning in her, in her singing. Her vibrations touched his entire torso and awakened god-knows-what in his soul. He lost himself in something he had never known he needed.

Without Ron, the tent was empty, until it wasn’t, until it was full of _something_ , until they were full. Now, he could scarcely imagine it feeling so cold again. At first, Hermione choked up with tears. As they went on, she sang song after song. Her voice grew stronger, and then weak with effort. Together, they swayed and spun.

Harry drew his arms inside Hermione’s flannel, seeking skin, seeking closeness. Hermione drew away, shaking. Harry didn’t _know._ For his part, Harry was horrified at himself. What had he _done_? It seemed right. They had been so close, but now, he was about to drive away the woman who had stuck with him through all this misery. Hermione steeled herself, though, and she drew Harry’s hands back into her. “Okay,” she breathed. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want there to be something new and uncomfortable between them. She dreaded his doubt.

“Alright,” Harry whispered back, afraid to break this moment, to bring back the tension and the fear. He rubbed soft circles into her back. He could feel the knots in her. Harry knew that she had carried all their fears for so long. Hermione drew herself into Harry and snuck a hand up the back of his shirt, drawing him closer into her. She had stopped singing, but they kept dancing, kept swaying and spinning and _living_.

Hermione pressed a hesitant kiss to Harry's neck. Harry thought he would lose his footing for a second. Entranced, he threaded his fingers through her hair. “Alright,” he said again. He kissed the wrinkles in Hermione's forehead and then looked down at her face, searching. Was this real? After a few moments, he kissed her forehead, and then her closed eyes. Harry felt so far out of his depth. He had snogged Ginny a few times at the end of their sixth year. There had been that time in the common room and later by the lake, and then once in the Burrow. They had never exchanged anything as tender as this. Harry felt so soft that he might cry. Instead, he gazed at Hermione in wonder, running his hands up and down her sides.

Hermione didn’t want to _tell Harry_. She didn’t want to let him know what she had sacrificed to come, that she had given up the last of her transition to be here. She was an adult, so she could have finished this year, in theory. It wasn’t as if she could have seen Madam Pomfrey anyways even if she hadn’t come with Harry. Not now, that she would have been hunted regardless. But she knew Harry wouldn’t see it that way. He would feel guilty, would think he had taken this from her. She didn’t want to talk about it, so she didn’t. Bold, she brought her hands around to Harry’s front. She reached a tentative palm up his shirt. Under her hand, Hermione felt something she must have seen at the Burrow but had never noticed.

An impish look appeared on Harry’s face, and Hermione worried for a moment. Harry had the oddest impulses sometimes. She needn’t have. Harry picked her up and cradled her like a baby, or maybe a bride, and brought her back to her bunk. He hesitated. Hermione didn't wait. She cocked her head at him and then beckoned to Harry with her finger to join her. They were doing this, whatever this was. She curled into Harry's side, and they settled, together, into her bunk.


End file.
